Himiko
by Kamui Senketsu
Summary: "If you ask anyone who thought they knew her, they would tell you she always seemed normal. That she was a kind, cheerful, polite girl before—" Just a little something I wrote for my favorite spooky month. Happy Halloween and terror to all.


**So I've been trying to challenge myself and improve my writing and this thing happened.** **I always write in past tense, so hopefully this doesn't suck too hard.**

**This one's for my favorite vampiric scumbag. I love and hate you Himiko.**

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_"I'll be honest with you if you're honest with me. 'Cause the one thing that you always ask is the one I don't understand: why. I've no idea why."_

—_Eric Ryan Olson_

* * *

If you ask anyone who thought they knew her, they would tell you she always seemed normal. That she was a kind, cheerful, polite girl before her murderous intent came out of complete left field. Her parents would say that they don't understand how she turned out the way she did.

But there is a lie somewhere in there.

A lie, because Himiko's mother has always known that her child is different. She doesn't know why, but it's just like that sometimes. Some things just _are_ and no amount of musing, or scientific or psychological study can explain them. Even still, if sometimes one can't explain the why, they can still be aware when something _is_. And Himiko's mother can attest to such.

She knew from the beginning that there was something off with the girl. When Himiko started to get a little older, around the age that all children begin to show signs of their personality and individuality, there was something missing.

Something in her amber eyes was gone, and her mother came to terms with the fact that it has never been there in the first place. And that lack of something, it told her she had to keep Himiko occupied so she could never get the chance to explore the abyss she had in its place. So the woman signed her up for martial arts, spoiled her as much as she could get away with and attempted to keep the child centered.

But she failed.

Himiko still wandered off into the darkness that had ahold of her. She still lacks that vital _something_ that most people have. She's just simply embraced being a monster.

.

.

.

You know...

It starts with little things.

And that's what those suits say, isn't it? _Those_ type of children always start with small things, like insects. They pull off their wings because they want to see how they squirm. Then they escalate to rodents— a mouse, squeezing with both little seven year old hands until red mush oozes out of its orifices. And then a bird, plucking it until its a bald, pink, bloodied lump of what once was. Then the child becomes bold, and tries their chances with cats and dogs. They carve into these innocent creatures with a blade from their mother's kitchen, pick them apart and tentatively delve a little tongue into deep inflicted wounds. Then the child finds they quite like this.

Then the licks aren't so tentative anymore, and instead they're kissing the wounds. Drinking, gulping down mouthfuls of blood in rapture. And a mother watches behind the cover of the back door of their home, as their child does this in the backyard.

The mother says nothing, does nothing but continue to love this frightening little creature she helped to create. But somewhere along the line animals are no longer enough anymore, and the child— now a young teenager becomes more bold with their curiosity. More enamored with the color red and how it gushes out of living, breathing entities when they've been hurt, cut, stabbed and torn asunder.

Himiko's father hadn't known. Hadn't a single clue. But her mother, she buried those little experiments in the family backyard.

People still praise her roses. If only they knew what she used for fertilizer.

A time came where Himiko seemed to just snap. But she hadn't snapped, because her mother had always known how she was inside. No. Himiko was just doing what she always wanted to deep down.

"I could've never stopped it. Just pretended it wasn't there." Whispers a pale blonde woman with cat-like gold eyes and round rosy cheeks.

She sits on the back porch of her traditional Japanese home, wondering. Her husband is doing a double shift at his office job. He's taken the disappearance of their child quite hard, so he stress works.

The sun is setting, warm orange-gold rays bathing the mother's backyard, illuminating the bright crimson pigment of the countless roses growing from the many bushes in the grass. The mother sighs, gold eyes fixating on one of her large, flourishing roses.

"Oh Himiko." She murmurs, the ever present hole in her heart gaping, aching for her child. But Himiko is gone, off in search for happiness that only she can give to herself.

"I hope you find what you're looking for." The mother whispers, gaze roving over her crowded backyard, remembering.

She doesn't know where her daughter is now. Or how she's gotten there, but she does know for certain that Himiko is happy. That she is doing what she always wanted to.

Even if it means hurting others.

* * *

It's dark, they're all alone in an alleyway in Shibuya well passed the Saturday curfew for teenagers like them.

She was picked up earlier in the day by the boy after he had watched her drink several strawberry milkshakes in a diner. He was cute, so of course she went out with him, and they had goofed off all day, teasing one another until it led them to this point. Still strangers but oh so well acquainted now.

Her back is to the mouth of the dead end's entrance, but she can still see the faint glow of the multicolored neon signs around them illuminating the streets. Trash is strewn about and it smells like sour piss but she doesn't care because they're all alone, and he's pressed up against her. There's a honeyed warmth in her stomach, a red hot flush on her cheeks as her heart pounds and something naughty heats up between her thighs.

They've been at it for a while and he's been so good for her, so lovely it takes her breath away.

She slides it into him.

It feels so amazing, feeling him shudder against her, his breath leaving him in a half choked gasp. It is warm and so _so_ wet. Tacky, sticky, and still so _slick_. She likes it. She likes it a lot.

She feels his warm wetness spill over her hand, and he slumps against her, limp as a rag doll, his mussed hair falling in a veil over her shoulder.

Sighing in bliss, she pulls it out of him and he falls, a puppet with rended strings. She steps back, watching entranced as a sluggish halo of red blooms around his cooling body. Still, in her right hand she holds the item that did the deed, a large cook knife that is currently her second most favorite thing in the world, just after the sight of the tattered and bloody teenage boy dead at her feet.

The boy on the ground is punched full of holes from where she's stabbed him over, and over and over again. He hadn't screamed because she'd cut his throat, rendering his vocal chords mostly useless. Deep enough so that his voice failed him, but shallow enough that he didn't immediately die, and she could do what she really wanted to do.

And that is not just to slash, or cut. But stab. It is sinking the knife into his flesh so much he is more holes than person, and every time she sinks the blade into his soft flesh it just felt better and better.

But it's over now. He's gone. A memory to the people that knew him and who she's taken him away from. But he'll live on for a while yet. He's told her so many things about himself throughout the day you see. So she knows him. She's _watched_ him and _learned_ him.

Himiko drops into a squat, wiping the bloody blade of her knife against the boy's hoodie to clean it off before sliding it away under her baggy yellow cardigan and tucking it into the waist of her black pleated skirt from behind. Sticky red forms a puddle around the blonde teen's loafers, and her mouth curls up at the corners, revealing razor sharp fangs.

"You look the best all torn apart like this." Himiko tells him, cheeks rosy.

She giggles a little, waddling while still in a squat and shifting so she can straddle the boy's waist. His chest is pressed to the ground, and his neck is twisted at an odd angle from when he fell. Himiko pulls off the cute fuzzy mini backpack she keeps on her person most of the time, and unzips it from her perch atop the rapidly cooling boy. She reaches inside and pulls out a fresh syringe.

Swiftly, the petit teen stabs the sharp end into the back of the boy's neck and pulls at the end carefully, drawing his blood. She meticulously does this three more times with the remaining needles in her backpack before storing her little prizes away. Four syringes of blood, meaning she can play around in this boy's skin for two days if she's careful.

Zipping up her backpack, she slips it back on before melding herself onto the boy's back, laying on top of him. She lovingly runs her fingers through his soft dark hair. It's all messed up from their earlier struggle, but some good that did him, hm? Himiko snickers to herself, tongue slipping between her smiling lips and laving languidly up the side of the boy's slit throat.

The tip of her slick pink organ slides over the gaping wound, lapping up the red it has gushed out and still slowly does. The sweet, metallic flavor of blood bursts across her taste buds, and Himiko laps at it, feeling a fresh wave of warmth swelling deep in her stomach and pooling between her legs.

She loves this. Loves the taste of fresh blood, loves how warm and almost viscous it is in large quantities.

Her lips latch onto the wound, fangs piercing lukewarm skin, and she sucks. She drinks what hasn't been spilled all over the alleyway ground, and her stomach gradually fills like a bag, her nose near drowning in a beloved coppery scent.

When she can't take anymore because she's taken all the boy has left, she dislodges herself with a flourish, sitting up with a gasp as a mixture of blood and saliva trickles down her chin. Her tongue sweeps out and she licks up all she can. The rest she smudges away with her dainty fingers before further sucking the digits clean.

With a contented sigh, Himiko's cat eyes gaze skyward, her vision somewhat swimming as pure pleasure thrums through her being. She takes a moment to breathe, crisp night air stinging her lungs with frost as she catches her breath, vision slowly clearing. The city's inky blue sky is starless, the only spectator to what happens below.

"Me and you are one now." Himiko says, looking down with a smile at the corpse she's straddling. "Now I can be you. If only for a little while."

She likes that idea. She likes seeing the world through other people's eyes, trying to understand them in a way that no one tries to understand her. It's lonely, but at times like this it's a little more worthwhile, because it feels so good.

Himiko sits back on her haunches, tilting her head to the side as her amber eyes narrow, a sinister grin eclipsing her rosy cheeks.

Suddenly, thick translucent gray matter spills out of her pores in a flood, bubbling over her skin and clothes until she's nothing but a vaguely humanoid blob. And then the gray sludge contracts, it shifts and seems to become frigid. The gray glitters and colors appear across its surface, becoming new features and clothing. In Himiko's place is a boy with mussed black hair, narrow dark eyes, and a wicked suggestive smirk.

This boy looks just like the dead boy on the ground. Though in Himiko's humble opinion, he looks much better covered in his own blood and ripped to shreds.

The boy—who she knows is named Haise, is now her. She is him, and he smiles.

Haise slides off of the dead body, wearing the same clothes as the boy on the ground, a simple gray hoodie, dark washed blue jeans, and white high top sneakers. Haise carefully rolls his murdered doppelganger over onto his back, sliding his hands into the soiled front pocket of the other boy's hoodie. He pulls out the teen's wallet and smartphone, tucking the goods away into his own gray hoodie, and then he stands up to his full height. Haise takes a moment to stretch like a lazy cat, arms reaching skyward as his eyes arch closed happily with a moan.

His stomach is full, he has a wallet full of cash, a snazzy smartphone and he's feeling great. The dark haired teen looks back down at the dead boy, pouting a little in thought about what he should do with him.

"Can't just leave the guy laying around now can I?" Haise mutters, scratching at the side of his cheek.

After several beats he blinks, a metaphorical lightbulb going off over his head, and then he perks up in excitement, turning on his heel to face the dead end brick wall of the alley. Dark eyes flit about the shadowed, trash strewn area, taking notice of the black garbage bags everywhere and the dumpster on the right hand side. He ignores these things, smirking roguishly when his chocolate eyes find the black circular cover to a manhole on the ground near the brick wall.

"Perfect." Haise grins.

He bends over near the dead boy, taking hold of his recent victim's tossed about hair. He tightens his hold on the thick, once beautiful dark strands and drags the carnage covered corpse down the street, further into the shadows of the alley. Haise grunts, using both hands to yank the deadweight down the alley, feeling the strain and burn within his biceps, but continuing to move all the same.

He releases his hold on the dead boy's hair, letting the body slump back down next to the manhole. Haise cracks his knuckles, and then his neck, squatting yet again to slip his fingers on either side of the heavy sewer cover, biting his lips as he makes to pry the cover open. Haise struggles a little, because it's heavy as all get out, but he manages to dislodge the dirty iron disk, pushing it aside. Once that's done, he takes a moment to catch his breath again, and then he reaches out, taking hold of his victim's bloodied hoodie. He drags the other boy closer, and then he stuffs his body into the blackened hole in the ground.

Haise pauses, listening for the tell tale sound of the body's splash into the hidden nastiness below.

When he hears a faint _splish_, Haise quickly covers the manhole again. The lithe teen stands, wiping his grimy hands against the side of his jeans.

"Gross." He mumbles.

He makes his way towards the mouth of the alleyway again, the neon lights of Shibuya growing brighter as he nears the exit. There's still blood on the ground, but there's trash everywhere that'll get blown around, and nobody will see it until it's too late anyway.

Smirking, Haise makes his way onto the streets, sliding his hands into his pockets and strolling away without a care in the world. When he gets bored of roaming around he'll check his phone for his address.

He's going to have so much fun.

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**Praise the dark autumn days, it's that time of year again.** **It's Halloween my favorite day of the year, so happy spooky times to you all and I hope you have a terrific day.**

—**Kamui**


End file.
